“Can’t bethatbig a deal if you skip them ninety-nine percent of the time.”
“Stella…” he starts, exhaling in pure frustration.
“Don’t ‘Stella’ me, Mar. You don’t get to show up whenever you want and demand explanations about where I spend my time when I have no idea where you spend yours.”
“You know damn well where I’ve been.”
My expression turns into a frown. He’s right. Marcello doesn’t have to tell me his schedule for me to know where he is almost all the time. If he’s not working for the Outfit, he’s back atNonno’sgym, fighting off his demons.
Damn it all to hell.
Knowing that I’m the one in the wrong here, I drag out a chair and sit beside him, placing my hand over his.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I just don’t like being interrogated about my whereabouts like I’m some prepubescent teenager. Especially not by my own brother.”
Marcello’s shoulders slump as he sets his free hand over mine.
“I just worry.”
“I know you do. But it’s me, Mar. I can take care of myself. Or do I need to drag you out to the barn and show you?” I lift a teasing brow, which gets a shy smile out of him.
“No.” He chuckles softly. “I’m not in the mood to get my ass beat.”
“Smart man.” I wink, though we both know it wouldn’t be a fair fight if Marcello ever decided to let the demon inside him loose on me.
I’d lose. And I’d lose hard. Hell… anyone would.
“Are you going to tell me where you were, though? I’d breathe easier knowing you were safe and not getting yourself into trouble.”
“I live for trouble.” I throw him a cocky smile and nudge his shoulder playfully with mine.
“My point exactly.”
“Fine. If it’ll erase those worry wrinkles on your face, I’ll tell you why I got home late. I just had a study group that ran later than I expected.”
“So you were at school this whole time?”
I can hear the trap in his tone, as if trying to catch me in a lie.
“Nope. We all met up at some coffee shop in the city. Do you need the name and directions? I’m sure the barista remembers me.” I laugh.
“No, that’s okay. I trust you.”
Guilt claws at me for deceiving him, but a lie is better than the alternative.
I doubt telling him the truth about how I was out dancing on a frozen lake with theBratvaunderboss of Chicago would ease my overprotective brother’s concern any.
Actually, I’m pretty sure that the second I even uttered the name Kirill, Marcello would be out the door hunting him down and telling him to stay away from me. And when I say ‘telling,’ I mean Marcello wouldn’t politely ask him to stay clear. He’d make sure Kirill couldn’t dance withanyoneever again.
“Lourdes left you a plate in the fridge. You want me to warm it up for you?” he asks, thankfully unaware of the thoughts rummaging in my brain.
“Actually, yeah. I’m freaking famished.”
Marcello gets up and starts heating my food while I lean back in my chair, hands behind my head, boots propped on the opposite seat.
“So how pissed off are the parentals?”
“They’re okay. Annamaria said you might be studying.”
